What happened to perfect?
by streetlove954
Summary: That's the life of a musician, to constantly be prodded and touched. Except he's the master of this narrative. It's the narrative of how a man lost his soul to a woman he would've given it all for. If only she'd asked. [Superstar AU based on Lukas Graham's 'What Happened To Perfect']


_**Pop Sensation, Barry Allen, debuts at number 1 on the Billboard 100 with**_ **Iris.** _ **, his fourth solo album.**_

 _ **Critics rave about Barry Allen's second single, 'What Happened to Perfect', from his fourth solo album,**_ **Iris** _ **. With over five million iTunes downloads and thirty million hard copies sold, it's no shocker that**_ **Iris.** _ **will be his best album yet.**_

Beads of sweat trickle-down his face. The rotating fans on the edge of the stage fail their task in cooling him. His voice - melodic and husky - washes over the crowd in soft waves. The honesty and emotion of his lyrics aren't lost either. That same overall intrigue of smoke and heart is what made Barry Allen a household name. It's also what's keeping him at the top of the charts with his highest grossing album to-date, _Iris._

Tonight, he's performing _Iris._ for the first time in Central City. Barry planned this performance down to the crowd size, the lighting and whether filming would be involved. He wants to show the world his pain, hopes they can help heal him, and make him sane again.

The intimacy of this particular performance is new. He's used to arena sized crowds with his face plastered on plasma screens and flashy sets to enhance the audience's experience. Not a crowd size of maybe one hundred and a band at his back. He finds he likes this setting better.

"Has anyone here ever been in love?" he asks into the mic, walking to the stool that stands in the middle of the stage. He grabs the bottle of water he left on the hard wood seat and takes a few sips as the audience coos their responses. He's pumped up on adrenaline from being on stage and performing _Iris._ live for the first time. It's the second greatest emotion he's ever felt. Second only because nothing holds a candle to the woman who inspired the actual album.

The band at his back strings low harmonic cords of a piano in wait of his next song. Barry plucks one of his ear pieces out, sits on the stool and places the half empty water bottle at his feet. Snapping the microphone on to its round base stand, he looks out at the darkened room.

Appreciation fills his chest and he can't help the soft upturn of his lips. They're all there for his music. Cellphone glow greets him as _She_ whispers in his veins and through his heart. _She's_ everywhere, all at once, and now, like this he can embrace the 'could-have's' and 'what-if's'. He can open his soul without judgments. That's the life of a musician, to constantly be prodded and touched. Except he's the master of this narrative. It's the narrative of how a man lost his soul to a woman he would've given it all for. If only she'd asked.

"I know I have," he begins, automatically seeing _her_. She's laughing at something he's said, her eyes creasing and her hair blowing in the London breeze. She's beautiful. "I've been in the kind of love that's once in a lifetime, the kind people dream about finding but never really do, you know?" he snaps his focus back to some of the faces in the audience and this time when his lips widen, it's bittersweet.

"But sometimes, that kind of love is hard too. Sometimes, it isn't meant to be," He takes a deep breath in preparation. _She's_ there again with her mouth pressed to his and her small hands framing his face. He thinks if he licks his lips he'll taste her, but he doesn't taste her. All that's there is dejection and a sense of lost. "My last song of the night is about trying and how sometimes even when we try, circumstances doom the forever part, no matter how badly we want it." The hum of the piano chords transitions into a violin symphony and Barry's leg starts to bounce with the addition of each new instrument.

"This is for _you_." he states, shifting his gaze to the camera filming the performance. There's a few screams, heavy clapping and then the room goes silent with the introduction of his smoky voice.

"I can see it in your eyes as I'm stumbling home, you're living with the man that you no longer know, you forgot to smile, as I passed you by," he pauses, his words echoing in their brokenness. Memories plague every word. "...now we're sitting down for dinner, we got nothing to say. It's like I'm watching you slowly slipping away from me...from me." he repeats, closing his eyes and suddenly they're in his Manhattan penthouse, and she has her hair in curls. The ones he used to love raking his fingers through in the early morning hours. She's across from him eating the dinner he'd prepared.

Her face is void of makeup and her lips are stretched into a frown. A frown he stills wants to kiss away 'till this day. He remembers wanting to fall to his knees right then and there and beg her to stay, to marry him but he hadn't. Somehow, he'd thought their love spanned continents, and survived in the face of the strongest adversaries. He was wrong.

"Remember when I used to make you laugh and every joke was better than the last," He hears her giggle, that sweet, sugary murmur that always punched him in the gut with its freedom. She's laying on his chest, watching him with sparkling eyes and a knowing smile. He'd fallen in love with her in that moment while a storm had beat overhead. "Tell me how to bring you back to _this_. Maybe I just need to reminisce and work it out." His voice heightens with its intensity, pain piercing every word as he sings the next verse.

"What happened to perfect? What happened to us? We used to be worth it. We never gave up. It wasn't on purpose but hurts like it was. Nobody deserves this. What happened to perfect?" He pulls out his second ear piece and stands to his full height extending the mic stand to match his new position. The crowd hums along to the beat, but all Barry can discern is _her_.

They'd met in the simplest of ways, bumping into each other outside of his favorite LA coffee shop. Needing alone time, he'd put on a ball cap and a pair of ray bans to hide his identity and went on a coffee run in hopes of a little peace. She'd been in a Flash hoodie and sweatpants with a messy bun and red lips. She'd been the most beautiful woman in the universe.

Somehow, through their differences - her a senior in college, him a-list musician - they'd fallen in love. His throat burns from the stain of their past. He wants to go back. Relive every moment again and again until it changes the outcome of the present day.

His eyes shine in the dimly lit room, and the camera pans to his features as he opens his mouth to release raspy lyrics.

"If you left me baby where would you go? I can't imagine you ever being alone. I'm jealous man but I'd try to understand." He's back at the end, when he finds her waiting in their living room, a packed suitcase at her feet. He can see her tears clearly, remembers the way she'd walked away without looking back. The chords of the music wash over him jerking him from that moment but not from her. Never from _Her_.

"So many things to say, I don't know where to start," Barry's fingers curl around the stem of the mic and he glances up towards the ceiling while the beat fills him with sorrow. The unanswered phone calls, the delivered text messages and unreturned emails pop into his mind. She'd left him when she'd promised she never would. "I can't pick up the pieces of a crumbling heart...so true," he sings, closing his eyes in an attempt to hold himself together. " _So true_."

"Remember when I used to make you laugh..." The lightness of his voice returns as he delivers the chorus. There's goosebumps on his flesh, a pain that feels sword-like in his chest and all he wants is to see her one last time. To say sorry, sorry for circumstances, sorry for being wrong but oh, so right. "Nobody deserves this. What happened to perfect? What happened to _us_?" The beat slows to accent his tone, and he focuses on the audience, on the faces he can make out in the dark. These are the people who are witnessing the very beat of his heart.

"What's under the surface? It used to be love. Would you call if you heard this?" His hand lifts and he lays a palm on his chest, the metaphorical sword burying deeper somehow. There's a movement of sorts - a gravitational pull if you will - that catches his attention off stage. And when he looks, really sees, she's standing there with hair barely brushing her shoulders, and tears streaming down her face. She's so utterly beautiful that Barry thinks he's imagining her. _She's not real_ , he tells himself, _she's just a figment of your imagination_.

She can't be real but when he utters the next line, he doesn't dare glance away. "Would _you_ know it was us?" His voice thickens with emotions and the beat bounces off the walls with such force it ricochets through every part of him.

"It wasn't on purpose but _hurts_ like it was. Nobody deserves this. What happened to perfect?" the distinguish violin strings mix with the hard tap of the bass and his lower lip quivers with restrained emotion. _What happened to perfect?_ _What happened to her?_ "Nobody deserves _this_." There's an ache in his chest when he looks back to the swaying audience. His throat is raw as he delivers the last verse.

"I can see it in your eyes as I'm stumbling home. You're living with the man you no longer know. _You_ forgot to smile." The last remaining chords of the piano echoes and he hangs his head defeat, savoring the uncontrolled pain whirling in his chest.

The crowd erupts in heavy applause. Blinking a few times, he returns to the presence. There are shouts of 'I love you' and 'oh my gosh' and he visibly relaxes. They love it, they love _him_. A grin fixates on his mouth and he does a slight bow.

Regardless of the state of his heart, performing will forever bring him peace. And though he'll never be whole, his art will always be the best piece of him. With slight hesitation, he briefly looks to where she'd stood and finds the spot empty. The hope he hadn't allowed but had still swarmed its way into his heart dissipates and he's left feeling alone again.

"Thank you," he manages, keeping a smile even if he's feeling anything but happy. "Thank you for coming out and supporting me tonight. I love you guys!" He kisses his palm and waves it toward the audience to demonstrate his gratefulness and gratitude.

Barry shoots one fleeting smile toward the camera before stepping back and leaving the stage. There's a swarm of people, his team and fans at the base of the steps when he's finally off the stage. He waves in greeting and does his best to greet his fans. Someone puts a towel in his hand and he uses it to wipe the sweat from his face. Iris or the illusion of her is still at the forefront of his mind in a trance of distraction. But he manages to meet with his supporters.

He takes pictures, autographs album covers, and talks for the next thirty minutes. This part of his job is probably his favorite. When he finally breaks away, his security guards usher him back to his dressing room. He has an hour before he has to catch a flight to New York.

"Mr. Allen, I will escort you through the back in twenty minutes." Diggle, one of his bodyguards, says when they reach his dressing room.

"Alright."

Diggle nods as Barry enters the dressing room, the door falling shut at his back. Flowers, random pastries, and cards litter every available surface. The sight isn't abnormal, just jarring, as always. He doesn't get a chance to check his phone before there's a hard knock. Thinking it's Diggle, he curses under his breath and marches to snatch open the door.

"You said twenty-" His words die at the back of his throat when he sees that it isn't Diggle or any one from his team. It's _her_. Her eyes are the first thing he notices, they're a chocolate brown and filled to the brim with unsuppressed sadness.

"I-Iris?"

"I'm sorry," she blurts out, not giving him time to react. "I'm so sorry. I didn't- I just-" she cuts herself off and glances heavenwards but not before he sees tears pooling under those chocolate eyes of hers.

"I got scared and ran," All of her words string together in fast succession. "I should've stayed, Bear and confided my fears." She takes a small step in his direction and gauges his reaction before taking another.

Barry can't bring himself to blink, much less utter a coherent sentence. He's in shock, and a little hopeful that this whole encounter isn't a part of his sleep deprived imagination.

"You don't have to say anything, I-I get it but just listen, please," She's touching him now, her small fingers grasping his wrist while her eyes stay earnestly on his. He doesn't know what to do or say, only stands transfixed looking down into her upturned face. _React, Allen_ , he thinks, but he's frozen by her presence, by her touch.

"I was scared you'd find someone better, someone from this world- _your_ world...a model or something," Tears fall on her cheeks and his fingers itch to swipe them away. He wants to tell her he's sorry too, say he would give up the world for her - all for her - but he stays silent. A small, large part, of him needing to hear the rest of what she has to say. "And I thought leaving before that happened would help with the hurt, but then I heard _Iris._ and I knew I was an idiot for leaving, for abandoning us." Her voice drops an octave and she moves closer. Barry can smell the succulent cherries perfuming her skin, and he finally, after two months without her, feels alive.

"I love you and the more I tried to fight it, to forget about you...us, the more I realized I couldn't. You're a part of me, Bear," She's holding the space between his thumb and forefinger. Guiding their hands to the thrashing of her heart before he can object. "And no matter how I tried to forget, I couldn't." Iris sniffles, tears rolling freely, and all Barry can think is how beautiful she is. "I want to try again. You mean everything to me and I allowed my own reservations to tear us apart. I'm sorry for that, so, so sorry."

"Please tell me it's not too late. I mean if it is I'd understand because I deserve it-"

It's his turn to cut her off and he does with a hard kiss to her lips. He tastes the salt of her tears and swallows the gasp she makes from his sudden movements. This is Iris. The woman he'd known within hours of meeting he was going to marry. The woman of his dream, and the one person who understood the man and the musician.

He doesn't know which one of them repeats 'I love you' but he suspects it's him. Wrapping her in a tight embrace, he presses her to his body with the intention of never letting her go and steps back into the safety of the dressing room.

She's _his_. Forever.

"It's okay," he mutters into the confines of her mouth. "You can make it up to me by marrying me."


End file.
